Published: Wednesday, February 27, 2013 at 1:40 p.m.

Last Modified: Wednesday, February 27, 2013 at 1:40 p.m.

Ponce de Leon did explore Florida in 1513, modern scholars agree, but the Spanish conquistador was interested in getting rich, not staying young.

The story of a fountain is just that — a story, one concocted decades after the fact by a less-than-reliable Spanish writer with a grudge against the man who named “La Florida.” Yet throughout this year, as the state celebrates the 500th anniversary of Ponce de Leon's landing, the fabled fountain will be mentioned over and over.

J. Michael Francis, history professor at the University of South Florida St. Petersburg, marvels at the power of what's called a foundation myth.

“Ponce de Leon was never, ever looking for a ‘Fountain of Youth,' ” Francis declares. “There's not a shred of evidence for this, yet it is inextricably tied to the history of Florida.”

Quincentennial celebrations offer historians a chance to set the record straight, while celebrating the real-life story of a Spanish colony in what became the United States.

Francis believes no exaggeration is necessary.

A cast of characters from the Spanish era includes famous explorers such as Hernando de Soto. Lesser known figures include Juan Garrido, a free black conquistador who sailed with Ponce de Leon and went on to Mexico. Then there is Hernando Fontaneda, who wrote a memoir about being a shipwreck survivor who lived among the tribes of Florida for 17 years.

Francis has written about Maria Melendez, a female tribal chief near St. Augustine who married a soldier, became a Spanish ally and wrote to the king of Spain.

All of this happened years before the British founded a colony in Jamestown, Va. Florida came first, only to have its past obscured by time, the waning power of Spain and the mist of a fictional fountain.

“We know the myth,” Francis says. “It's time to share the history.”

Spanish paleography

Francis, 45, is a blonde and blue-eyed history professor who has become the handsome face of Spanish colonial scholarship in Florida.

With a winning smile, he concedes this is an unlikely match.

Francis is a Canadian from Alberta who studied Latin American history and earned a doctorate at the University of Cambridge. Then he became a research fellow at the Library of Congress and the American Museum of Natural History. His work with Spanish colonial records led him the University of North Florida and then, in 2012, to USF.

In St. Petersburg, he teaches graduate courses in Spanish paleography — the study of old hand-written documents by soldiers, administrators and priests. These official accounts are only the beginning of his work.

“One of the great joys of working with documents is that people lie, they embellish, they contradict themselves, they leave things out,” Francis writes. “The challenge is you have to piece together a story from different sources and voices and try to reconstruct the past. This is what drives you.”

The greatest collection of documents on colonial Florida is within the General Archive of the Indies in Seville, Spain. Spanish officials have been pioneers in digitally scanning documents and making them available online. Francis jokes that their revenge has been to make their websites incredibly difficult to use.

Still, the last decade has brought a new look at the New World for researchers around the globe.

“It's staggering, when you think of the material available,” Francis says. “What we know of 16th century Florida, we're just scratching the surface. There's enough for students to do for the next 500 years.”

Tantalizing history

From a table at The Tavern, a bar on the USF campus in St. Pete, a trio of graduate students talk about being seduced by history.

They're learning — slowly — to translate Spanish royal documents that are 400 and 500 years old. They compare it to studying a musical instrument, because it requires both practice and passion.

“I sat in a couple of times and got hooked,” says Jennifer Gray. “It's that interesting. Reading these documents is very different from studying textbooks. With this, you're kind of breathing life into these characters.”

Arthur Tarratus is a graduate student who followed Francis to USF. Like the others in St. Pete, he spends hours staring at digital images of manuscripts on computer screens.

On a summer research trip to Seville, he got to view the real thing.

“That was one of my cool moments, seeing the signature of Phillip II,” he says. “You know, actually holding the document.”

The handwritten manuscripts of the Spanish are often beautiful, with weighted and shaded letters flowing across the page like musical notes. Ascenders and descenders. Margins and spacing.

None of the paleography students cared for history as it was taught to them in school. All three have their own past lives.

Gray is a registered nurse. Tarratus was a librarian when he wasn't selling motorcycle parts. Hardage is a financial planner.

They identify with many of the writers they read.

Hardage can tell when a Spanish scribe is getting sloppy and tired. Tarratus feels badly for a soldier who was later drawn and quartered. Gray jokes about falling in love with her Spaniards.

“Once you start,” she says, “it's easy to get sucked into studying their lives.”

Ponce: ‘pon-SAY'

Juan Ponce de Leon was a gentleman soldier who fought the Moors in Spain and later sought his fortune in the New World.

Historians believe he joined Columbus' second voyage. Later he returned to Hispaniola and Puerto Rico.

There are gaps in the life of Ponce — the correct pronunciation is “pon-SAY” — and scholars struggle to get a feel for the man.

“Everybody knows the name,” Francis says, “but the reality is that he remains a very enigmatic character. It opens all sorts of opportunities for conspiracy theories and people to put forward all sorts of ideas.”

There are no reliable portraits of Ponce de Leon, but there is one personal touch in the historical record — his signature. The conquistador used shorthand for parts of his name, then bracketed the whole thing with elaborate swirls common to the period.

“It's a breathtaking signature in 16th century handwriting,” Francis says. “I'm surprised nobody has tried to market this. If this was Virginia's 400th anniversary, that signature would be on lunch boxes, T-shirts, pencils, everything.”

On Hispianola, Ponce took part in a brutal Spanish campaign against the native Taino tribe. He was awarded a land grant and started a farm with Indian labor. He married an innkeeper's daughter and built a stone house that still stands on the island.

He served as governor of Puerto Rico and then sailed to Florida, making landfall on April 3, 1513. Historians aren't sure where he landed on the East Coast, but many believe he visited Charlotte Harbor after making his way through the Gulf of Mexico.

The most significant discovery of his first expedition might have been the Gulf Stream, the powerful Atlantic current that helped Spanish fleets sail home with the riches of the New World.

On Ponce's second voyage, he again visited the Gulf Coast near Charlotte Harbor. In a skirmish with the hostile Calusa tribe, he was wounded by an arrow. He sailed to Cuba and died in Havana.

Today, Ponce's tomb in San Juan, Puerto Rico, describes him as a “Valiant Military Man, Skillful Leader, Loyal Subject, Honest Administrator, Loving Father and Industrious and Consistent Colonist.”

Fountain of lies

Francis laughs at the spectacle of Florida cities wrangling for the honor of being where Ponce de Leon first landed in Florida.

“We don't know,” he says, shaking his head. “We never will know. It's time to move on.”

Francis also enjoys the “Fountain of Youth” myth, even as he explains to audiences that it has no basis in fact.

“I'm not saying we should get rid of it,” he says. “I love it — it's one of the greatest foundation myths anywhere.”

Oviedo y Valdes was the notorious Spanish writer who first described Ponce de Leon as a wayward explorer fruitlessly searching for a “Fountain of Youth” in Florida. One of his rivals, a friar with his own agenda, penned a memorable putdown of his work.

He denounced Oviedo as “one of the greatest tyrants, thieves, and destroyers of the Indies, whose Historia contains almost as many lies as pages.”

For Francis, the Spanish colony of Florida has been a colorful and inexhaustible subject. He makes speeches, curates museum exhibits and writes articles and histories.

His books include “Murder and Martyrdom in Spanish Florida.” Now he's working on a manuscript called “Before Jamestown: Europeans, Africans and Indians in La Florida, 1513-1607.”

Francis says he began studying Spanish Florida without realizing how much there was to it. Over the years, he began to wonder why there has never been a great novel or worthy film about this era of European exploration.

“Now I'm unapologetic about saying it's one of the most interesting histories in the country,” he says. “It's also one of the most misunderstood.”

<p>First things first: Forget about the “Fountain of Youth.”</p><p>Ponce de Leon did explore Florida in 1513, modern scholars agree, but the Spanish conquistador was interested in getting rich, not staying young.</p><p>The story of a fountain is just that — a story, one concocted decades after the fact by a less-than-reliable Spanish writer with a grudge against the man who named “La Florida.” Yet throughout this year, as the state celebrates the 500th anniversary of Ponce de Leon's landing, the fabled fountain will be mentioned over and over.</p><p>J. Michael Francis, history professor at the University of South Florida St. Petersburg, marvels at the power of what's called a foundation myth.</p><p>“Ponce de Leon was never, ever looking for a 'Fountain of Youth,' ” Francis declares. “There's not a shred of evidence for this, yet it is inextricably tied to the history of Florida.”</p><p>Quincentennial celebrations offer historians a chance to set the record straight, while celebrating the real-life story of a Spanish colony in what became the United States.</p><p>Francis believes no exaggeration is necessary.</p><p>A cast of characters from the Spanish era includes famous explorers such as Hernando de Soto. Lesser known figures include Juan Garrido, a free black conquistador who sailed with Ponce de Leon and went on to Mexico. Then there is Hernando Fontaneda, who wrote a memoir about being a shipwreck survivor who lived among the tribes of Florida for 17 years.</p><p>Francis has written about Maria Melendez, a female tribal chief near St. Augustine who married a soldier, became a Spanish ally and wrote to the king of Spain.</p><p>All of this happened years before the British founded a colony in Jamestown, Va. Florida came first, only to have its past obscured by time, the waning power of Spain and the mist of a fictional fountain.</p><p>“We know the myth,” Francis says. “It's time to share the history.”</p><p><b>Spanish paleography</b></p><p>Francis, 45, is a blonde and blue-eyed history professor who has become the handsome face of Spanish colonial scholarship in Florida. </p><p>With a winning smile, he concedes this is an unlikely match.</p><p>Francis is a Canadian from Alberta who studied Latin American history and earned a doctorate at the University of Cambridge. Then he became a research fellow at the Library of Congress and the American Museum of Natural History. His work with Spanish colonial records led him the University of North Florida and then, in 2012, to USF.</p><p>In St. Petersburg, he teaches graduate courses in Spanish paleography — the study of old hand-written documents by soldiers, administrators and priests. These official accounts are only the beginning of his work.</p><p>“One of the great joys of working with documents is that people lie, they embellish, they contradict themselves, they leave things out,” Francis writes. “The challenge is you have to piece together a story from different sources and voices and try to reconstruct the past. This is what drives you.”</p><p>The greatest collection of documents on colonial Florida is within the General Archive of the Indies in Seville, Spain. Spanish officials have been pioneers in digitally scanning documents and making them available online. Francis jokes that their revenge has been to make their websites incredibly difficult to use.</p><p>Still, the last decade has brought a new look at the New World for researchers around the globe.</p><p>“It's staggering, when you think of the material available,” Francis says. “What we know of 16th century Florida, we're just scratching the surface. There's enough for students to do for the next 500 years.”</p><p><b>Tantalizing history</b></p><p>From a table at The Tavern, a bar on the USF campus in St. Pete, a trio of graduate students talk about being seduced by history. </p><p>They're learning — slowly — to translate Spanish royal documents that are 400 and 500 years old. They compare it to studying a musical instrument, because it requires both practice and passion.</p><p>“I sat in a couple of times and got hooked,” says Jennifer Gray. “It's that interesting. Reading these documents is very different from studying textbooks. With this, you're kind of breathing life into these characters.”</p><p>Arthur Tarratus is a graduate student who followed Francis to USF. Like the others in St. Pete, he spends hours staring at digital images of manuscripts on computer screens.</p><p>On a summer research trip to Seville, he got to view the real thing.</p><p>“That was one of my cool moments, seeing the signature of Phillip II,” he says. “You know, actually holding the document.”</p><p>The handwritten manuscripts of the Spanish are often beautiful, with weighted and shaded letters flowing across the page like musical notes. Ascenders and descenders. Margins and spacing.</p><p>“It's gorgeous,” says Alison Hardage, “but it's frustrating as heck to figure out sometimes.”</p><p>None of the paleography students cared for history as it was taught to them in school. All three have their own past lives.</p><p>Gray is a registered nurse. Tarratus was a librarian when he wasn't selling motorcycle parts. Hardage is a financial planner.</p><p>They identify with many of the writers they read.</p><p>Hardage can tell when a Spanish scribe is getting sloppy and tired. Tarratus feels badly for a soldier who was later drawn and quartered. Gray jokes about falling in love with her Spaniards.</p><p>“Once you start,” she says, “it's easy to get sucked into studying their lives.”</p><p><b>Ponce: 'pon-SAY'</b></p><p>Juan Ponce de Leon was a gentleman soldier who fought the Moors in Spain and later sought his fortune in the New World. </p><p>Historians believe he joined Columbus' second voyage. Later he returned to Hispaniola and Puerto Rico.</p><p>There are gaps in the life of Ponce — the correct pronunciation is “pon-SAY” — and scholars struggle to get a feel for the man.</p><p>“Everybody knows the name,” Francis says, “but the reality is that he remains a very enigmatic character. It opens all sorts of opportunities for conspiracy theories and people to put forward all sorts of ideas.”</p><p>There are no reliable portraits of Ponce de Leon, but there is one personal touch in the historical record — his signature. The conquistador used shorthand for parts of his name, then bracketed the whole thing with elaborate swirls common to the period.</p><p>“It's a breathtaking signature in 16th century handwriting,” Francis says. “I'm surprised nobody has tried to market this. If this was Virginia's 400th anniversary, that signature would be on lunch boxes, T-shirts, pencils, everything.”</p><p>On Hispianola, Ponce took part in a brutal Spanish campaign against the native Taino tribe. He was awarded a land grant and started a farm with Indian labor. He married an innkeeper's daughter and built a stone house that still stands on the island.</p><p>He served as governor of Puerto Rico and then sailed to Florida, making landfall on April 3, 1513. Historians aren't sure where he landed on the East Coast, but many believe he visited Charlotte Harbor after making his way through the Gulf of Mexico.</p><p>The most significant discovery of his first expedition might have been the Gulf Stream, the powerful Atlantic current that helped Spanish fleets sail home with the riches of the New World.</p><p>On Ponce's second voyage, he again visited the Gulf Coast near Charlotte Harbor. In a skirmish with the hostile Calusa tribe, he was wounded by an arrow. He sailed to Cuba and died in Havana.</p><p>Today, Ponce's tomb in San Juan, Puerto Rico, describes him as a “Valiant Military Man, Skillful Leader, Loyal Subject, Honest Administrator, Loving Father and Industrious and Consistent Colonist.”</p><p><b>Fountain of lies</b></p><p>Francis laughs at the spectacle of Florida cities wrangling for the honor of being where Ponce de Leon first landed in Florida. </p><p>“We don't know,” he says, shaking his head. “We never will know. It's time to move on.”</span></b></p><p>Francis also enjoys the “Fountain of Youth” myth, even as he explains to audiences that it has no basis in fact.</p><p>“I'm not saying we should get rid of it,” he says. “I love it — it's one of the greatest foundation myths anywhere.”</p><p>Oviedo y Valdes was the notorious Spanish writer who first described Ponce de Leon as a wayward explorer fruitlessly searching for a “Fountain of Youth” in Florida. One of his rivals, a friar with his own agenda, penned a memorable putdown of his work.</p><p>He denounced Oviedo as “one of the greatest tyrants, thieves, and destroyers of the Indies, whose Historia contains almost as many lies as pages.”</p><p>For Francis, the Spanish colony of Florida has been a colorful and inexhaustible subject. He makes speeches, curates museum exhibits and writes articles and histories.</p><p>His books include “Murder and Martyrdom in Spanish Florida.” Now he's working on a manuscript called “Before Jamestown: Europeans, Africans and Indians in La Florida, 1513-1607.”</p><p>Francis says he began studying Spanish Florida without realizing how much there was to it. Over the years, he began to wonder why there has never been a great novel or worthy film about this era of European exploration.</p><p>“Now I'm unapologetic about saying it's one of the most interesting histories in the country,” he says. “It's also one of the most misunderstood.”</p>